The Miraculous Malfoy
by thexchromosomee
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy is notorious for his ambiguity.


**A/n:** I'm a fan of the director Baz Luhrmann (_Moulin Rouge, Romeo and Juliet, Australia, The Great Gatsby)_ so this weekend as a reward after three weeks of midterms and projects and important assignments and not sleeping full nights I decided I wasn't going to do anything except watch his films. I like his parties and I can easily imagine Scorpius Malfoy throwing similar ones.

This came out of my imaginings.

(For the full effect, listen to a Luhrmann party while reading this)

* * *

Rose loves the parties.

She never indulges herself the way her cousins and the rest of the wizarding world do. The women come dressed in sparkling jewels and gauzy dresses, the men in their best suits – but on the floor it doesn't matter. They dance. With everyone. The ministry men, the pub owners, the waitresses and the actresses. It doesn't matter who is who when they have their hands on round hips, their arms around broad shoulders.

For one night. One long, lovely, enchanting night. And the wizarding world is lucky that these nights take place nearly every weekend.

No one is ever invited, they simply come. Hoards of glittering people spilling from the streets of London, entering that castle of a home in the countryside. The whispers of a party travel from strange mouths to stranger ears and no one ever misses a visit.

And they are marvelous parties – everything glittering and loud and wild. Waiters bustle about with the richest of luxury foods and always a new drink to replace one just finished. The owner has good taste. He knows which flowers and paintings to decorate the place with; he has everything modern to impress his guests; his halls shimmer with chandeliers and mirrors and lights. People swim in the fountains and stand on the tables and no one cares for virtue or propriety. The whole castle shakes with their desires.

But Rose never takes part. She likes to watch. She can get drunk off the atmosphere alone, she doesn't need the expensive wine or the cigars.

She will drift from room to room simply observing that effortless way in which people can forget themselves, forget the world around them and just for one minute give away to the moment. She doesn't have that skill. So she watches instead, studying and cataloguing, and she takes some interesting lessons from it.

Dominique, her cousin, is one to watch. Her blonde hair is cut short into a bob and her lips are always painted some shocking colour. She wears a dress that is cut to her figure, tall and thin; and enough jewels that at the next day she will complain about the weight. But in the moment, the weight is worth it. She makes the boys go weak in the knees and the men stand straighter. Every party there is a different date entering and leaving the castle with her, she can never make up her mind on which one she truly wants. She comes with the rich heir to some family fortune, leave with the head of a Ministry department, or a dangerous creature hunter, or anyone with a significant title. She knows well enough that affairs with the wealthy are the best kept secrets.

James, another cousin, is equally instructive. His list of trysts is rivaled by no other, a girl from every way of life, a woman from every bed in London – he has the charm that can make anyone forget their promises to another. He is coiffed to perfection with his father's unmistakeable Potter hair, and this doesn't injury his attempts at wooing. Rose learns from her cousin's ways and looks and words which blokes to stay away from, which is nearly all of them.

Not all of the Weasley-Potter family comes to these events. The Aunts and Uncles never do, too busy hosting their own parties, but also caught up in fear and pride from years past. And some of the cousins are too young still, though Lily came during the summer months. She is only sixteen and her brothers don't like the idea of men doing to her what they do to girls, but get a drink or two into them and their worries are forgotten. And Lily can hold her own with a wand, so Rose only collects her at the end of the night, making sure she gets to the Potter house instead of someone else's.

But they aren't the only famous names to show their faces at the parties: Scamander, Wood, Longbottom, Goldstein, Shacklebolt. These are the names, along with Potter and Weasley, that will grace the papers if anything compromising comes to light, but really most of the stories are rumours and Rose's cousins have taken to clipping them out and scrapbooking them. It is a fine way to spend their time between parties.

There is one name on everyone's lips though, one name that simply drives people wild with interest.

'Do you think he's here?' Dom sighs through white painted lips, standing as tall as she can on her already towering heels. She's trying to see over the crowds as everyone converges on the main ballroom, though there are so many rooms, a labyrinth of corridors – he could be anywhere.

'Who?' Rose asks, knowing very well who her cousin is speaking of. They have this conversation every time they come.

'Malfoy, silly!'

'It is his house.' Rose replies in a practiced way. 'I'm certain he'll be here somewhere. The question is, will he show himself?'

Scorpius Malfoy is notorious for his ambiguity.

He drifted seemingly out of nowhere, his pockets jingling with enough gold to make the whole world happy. His parents had taken a house in France after the war, but the boy went to Hogwarts and was in Rose's class. He was a nobody in school and now everyone regretted not knowing him better. Just a few years later, he was the most famous man in the wizarding world, for no other reason than he throws great parties and never attends. Or maybe he does. No one knows him, no one knows his face. Girls will make up stories that he'd spoken to them, kissed them even; and boys will pretend to be him, but their façade crumbles when there isn't any evidence to support it. That no one knows his face or his person keeps the people coming, and the parties keep coming, and the people and the parties and it is an endless cycle. Product and demand. As long as there is demand for him, there is a party produced, and as long as there is a party, he is in demand.

'Now there's a good looking fellow.' Dom purrs in Rose's ear, steering her cousin towards a man with dark hair, a beard and thousands of shining rings. 'Perhaps he's our Mr Malfoy?'

Rose detaches herself from this love connection, knowing that the poor Mr Callier who had accompanied Dom and gone to fetch drinks will be without a date for the rest of the night. Perhaps he knew that from the beginning.

James and Albus are with her. James powers on but his brother stays behind.

'Brunch at the Potter's tomorrow, remember? I want to hear about your night, see if you find anything interesting. Your stories about what you see at these parties always amuse us. We aren't as observant as you.' He says, squeezing her hand.

'Have a good night.' She replies, giving him a shove.

He disappears into the crowds and Rose splits from the hall, taking a spiraling staircase up and up to her favorite vantage point over the ballroom. From here she can see the band playing their jazzy tunes on raised platforms, and the people, so many people, drinking and talking and dancing. And here she watches, waiting.

'You came.' Says a voice, pleased and surprised.

She spins to see a face that possibly only she knows. It's got a charming appeal to it, not traditionally handsome, but certainly attractive. Pale skin pulled taunt over high cheekbones, a misshapen nose at the center, broken in two places from his first year, two thin pink lips below and two silver eyes above, topped off with a mop of blond hair. Yes, he is attractive.

Rose often feels uneasy standing beside him. She's been called 'sweet' and 'pretty', but beautiful is a word more suited to Dominique.

'I came.' She replies simply, watching him step closer, his black suit cutting a striking image. 'Don't I always?'

'You're not something I can predict.' He shrugs, leaning against the bannister with her and observing the crowd. She can see his eyes glittering when the lights shine up at them.

'Well, this time I had to come. I was _invited_.' Rose says, slipping a hand into the front of her dress and withdrawing the simple card issued to her one week ago exactly. It had been waiting for her when she had come home after last Saturday's celebrations.

_Dear Miss Weasley,_

_The honour would be entirely mine if you could attend my little party._

_Yours sincerely, Mr Malfoy_

'Little' doesn't exactly do his parties justice. James likes to joke that he's compensating for something.

'I didn't see you last week.' He reaches out to take it from her. 'I had to be sure you'd come.'

Rose pulls it away. 'Ah – I'll be keeping this, I think. No one is ever invited to a Malfoy party. And I was here last week. I didn't see _you_.'

'Yes. Perhaps these things are growing a little too large, if I can't find you.'

'I like large. It's easier for me to be here and not be noticed.'

'Yes, at small parties there isn't any privacy.' He slides closer, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. 'And I like my privacy.'

'And so you throw lavish parties to keep the people away?'

'To keep the people close. You know that saying – keep your friends close and your enemies closer?'

'And we're very close, much closer than any of these people – does that mean we're very bad enemies? I thought this was friendship.' She nudges his shoulder with hers.

He seems to think for a moment, that smile ever ambiguous. Rose can't read him the way she can most. He slowly raises a hand and traces a knuckle down her bare arm in a shockingly tender way.

'You were a bonus.' He says, and there is a very long pause. 'Or perhaps, you were the reason and the privacy is the bonus.'

'You're being cryptic.' She tells him, tipping her head towards him with a warning look.

'I'm sorry I'm not an open book. I've got to at least give you a challenge.'

'I suppose that's what drew us together in the first place, isn't it?' She says, thinking back to their Hogwarts years.

'You thought that that shrimpy little third year would pose you a challenge?' He scoffs.

'I base my readings of people off of their interactions with others. You didn't have any friends. You didn't even speak to me the first ten attempts I made. How I ever put up with that silent treatment is beyond me.' Rose laughs, now caught up in memories. 'I must have known that that shrimpy little third year would later become the most famous man in the wizarding world with an endless fortune and a large, empty heart to fill.'

'I think you mean house.'

'No,' She grins, lacing an arm around his shoulder and reaching up to kiss his cheek. 'I mean heart.'

Rose means to pull away immediately, but he smoothly places his arm around her waist and traps her at his side. He's acting strangely tonight, talking in patterns and eyes spending a little too long lingering on her face.

'Perhaps I gave you the silent treatment because you made me nervous.'

'Why did you invite me here tonight?' It's special. She knows it is.

He sighs. 'You've always been there, Rose. We've always been together. Even on that day, when you came up to me determined to make me talk – you were the first person to try, you know – I knew you were going to be special. Even though I couldn't force out two words to tell you so. You persisted, Rose, and now that I've come to know you I understand the significance of this. You don't talk to people. You stay hidden away because, like me, it's just easier for you to be unknown.'

He stops, bringing up his free hand to press his palm to her cheek.

'It's my parent's anniversary today and it got me thinking. You're the only woman I've ever properly spoken to. You probably know more about me than my own mother. And why bother knowing any other woman while you're in my life?' He's barely speaking now, so soft that Rose has to strain herself to hear. 'Truly, I can't imagine it. You're all I have.'

She's staring so intensely at his tie now that it might burst into flame. Her cheeks are red and even through the fabric of her dress and his suit she can feel the heat of his skin on hers. It's a bad situation to be in. She doesn't know how to respond – she doesn't truly understand what he's asking, or if he's asking. It takes her a moment to look up at him, and when she does she finds him staring intently down at her.

If she kissed him now, would it be so terrible?

She considers it sometimes, at the worst of times, like half-way through breakfast or in the shower, how it would be. Like kissing her brother? But he was so much more than a brother. Then would it be even stranger, because they were even closer?

There really was only one way to find out.

He releases her suddenly, stepping away. She'd taken too long. He stands back with a slow sad look spilling onto his face.

'It was stupid of me to have supposed–' He mutters, turning to the stairs. Her stomachs drops to her feet at the sight of his back towards her, knowing that her next action will make or break them. And she certainly doesn't want to break them. He's too dear to her heart, too necessary for her happiness, as he always was in school, the only true friend she had.

'Scorpius.' She breathes his name, as it occurs to her in this moment that, as she was the only one for him, he was the only one for her.

Fame was a blessing to her cousins, a curse to Rose. While they basked in their parents' glory, she was trapped by it in false friendships that deluded her into believing that someone cared about her. All the people, they loved the riches, the tabloids and the society. Rose would give it up in a heartbeat for normality, to walk to class without a girl she'd never seen before in her life trying to make a claim to a Weasley, or a boy flirting for the sake of his name being thrown around with hers. So she stayed away from them.

The Malfoy name was equally cursed, infamous rather than famous, renowned for its links to evil and darkness. A boy in first year couldn't escape the fists of seventh years who had lost parents, or teachers with grudges against his father's actions. So he stayed away from them.

And one day she found him and Rose was felt that there was a difference between him and all of the others. So she made an effort and after a while he realised that she wasn't leaving him anytime soon. Their friendship wasn't necessarily a secret, it was simply that Rose had become the 'dull' one in her family and none of them cared what she did, and no one cared about him at all. They studied together, lounged around the grounds on sunny days, once or twice went to Hogsmeade, and eventually became very close. Then they graduated. He admitted to her that, despite being quite skilled, he had no plans to take a position with the ministry or go into business. He wanted to stay hidden away. His parents had made some smart investments years ago and he had the money to live in luxury two or three times over. Rose was shocked by this, hoping that after their school years he would come out of the shell he had grown. They had their rough patch here, as all relationships do at one point in time: she swore to him that if he didn't let life in she would leave him behind. They were empty threats, she couldn't live without him, even a hermit version of the strong man she knew was better than nothing. But he had listened.

He turns to her at the sound of his name and she throws herself into his arms, lips bumping together in an awkward, clumsy way at first. When he gets over his initial shock he's much more enthusiastic, trapping her against the bannister and leaning her over the party.

And it's not terrible.

It's like properly breathing for the first time in her life.

They break apart laughing, their euphoria impossible to keep hidden. He kisses her cheeks and her lips again before tugging her down the stairs.

'Where are we going?' She asks, confused.

'These parties are for you, all for you. To see you. Now that I have you, I know–.' He calls over his shoulder, pulling her close when they reach the bottom step. 'I know that I don't need to face everyone alone.'

'You never had to.' Rose replies, smoothing the crease in his forehead with a gentle touch.

He lures her to the floor with a warm kiss to the inside of her wrist. It's a place she's never ventured before, too many people writhing wildly, air so hot and heavy with confetti one can hardly breathe. He knows his way around and he leads her straight to the center of it all, under the shimmering chandelier and the explosions of glitter.

Someone jostles him from behind, a fellow in a sharp white suit dancing with a woman wearing a sleek black dress, a camera strapped around his neck.

'Sorry!' The man says, spinning his partner while keeping an eye on the pair he'd interrupted.

'No need for apologies.'

'Some party, hey?'

'Is it?'

Rose laughs at her love's response and wicked grin. He's enjoying himself, finally at ease with other people.

'Say, who are you, anyways?' The man says, brow wrinkled questioningly. 'I've been all over these parties looking for stories, I'm with the Prophet – and I'm good with a face. I can't place yours.' He reaches out a hand. 'That's rude of me to say without introducing myself. I'm Nick Gerrings.'

'I'm Scorpius Malfoy.' Scorpius' whole figure seems to smile as he turns away from the man's shocked face to look at Rose. 'And this is my love, Rose Weasley.'

They make the cover the next morning.

* * *

**A/n:** Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I know I should be updating my long-running story, Girls Always Win, but…


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